Separating Trauma from Trigger

I sure wish I could remember which noodle of my psychiatric alphabet soup provided this gem. Given my inability to remember, there is room for the possibility that separating the trauma from the trigger was born of my strictly personal delusions.

Whatever its source, it is feeling very effective for this spin of the not-so-merry-go-round. Why wouldn't the stresses of the current GK drama be triggering flashbacks to my own childhood traumas of being dragged coast to coast? Whatever the similarities, the DIL's morbidly obese knees arenae my mother's morbidly obese knees. The children crying there arenae any of the six younger siblings my mother has given me responsibility for providing everything that she cannot. The other grandfather's patriarchal style doesnae make him my father. Etcetera, etceteri.

The flashbacks triggered by the current round of confusion seem to be leading to Christmas, 1968, Garden Grove and/or Anaheim, California. I was 14 years old. Not a virgin, but still premium age in the kiddie whorehouses. Does I really have to remember this garbage?

Plying therapy tools. . .

A subset of this ? ? ? therapy technique ? ? ? that I do believe is purely my own is, "Mining for Gems." Yes, my California Christmas one of the most horrendous freak shows I endured in my freaky childhood, but even there, there were Angels of Mercy. Yes, December 1968 was especially horrific, but. . . Were there Angels of Mercy behind the miricle of my survival? Is the memory of their magic worth wading through the cesspools they guided me through?

Sorting. . .